I had the privilege of playing with a small crow today. For about a minute. And by playing I mean I pretended to help and she pretended to need help, until her mother came and let me know I will be murdered unless I stop playing at once. 

       The thing is, on the doggy walk, we found a young bird, about the size of a pigeon, by the walkway. I approached it carefully, making little noises, and caressed it slowly, then picked it up, wondering what to do. One option was to put her in the bushes, away from the dogs and prying eyes. Another was to take it home and nurse it back to health. Its tail was all messed up. (My next-door neighbour is a vet.) But once I moved to pick up my bag and the dog on the leash, the bird got upset. Then its mother or whichever relative showed up, warning me to back off. As this was not my first encounter with crow parents, I knew to obey instantly. I still have a dent in my motorcycle helmet from the time I thought birds can't hurt me.